


Falling short

by Hypatia_66



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Communism, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Terrorism, United Nations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-22
Updated: 2019-07-22
Packaged: 2020-07-10 17:21:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19909399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hypatia_66/pseuds/Hypatia_66
Summary: LJ Short Affair challenge. Prompts: food, silverA bomb threat to the United Nations - Napoleon and Illya are sent to find out where it's come from.





	Falling short

December 11 1964, 12.07pm

Alexander Waverly, looking out of his window, observed a sudden huge spout of water shooting up and collapsing into the river in front of the United Nations building. Then came the distant sound of a detonation. “What was _that?_ ” said Napoleon, just entering the room.

“Mr Kuryakin appears to have been too late to prevent an attack,” said Waverly and picking up his microphone called the Russian. “…And he’s not answering.”

<><>

Earlier that morning.

Friday, the end of a dull week. Napoleon lifted his feet off his desk and strolled to the window. Just a chilly December day in New York with not much incentive to go out. He yawned. “Let’s go for coffee,” he said.

“Just a minute. I’m busy.”

“There’ll be cake. Five minutes?”

“…’kay,” Illya responded absently. Normally highly susceptible to offers of food, he had his head down, poring over a file.

A summons from Mr Waverly put paid to that plan. Illya reluctantly closed his file and joined Napoleon at the door. “Did he say what it was about?”

“Does he ever?”

Waverly was standing at his window looking out; he turned as they entered. “I have just received a call saying that there is a bomb threat at the United Nations,” he announced.

They waited, curious; it wasn’t their territory. “We have no reason to get involved,” Waverly continued, “but there may be ramifications that we must remain alert to.”

They joined him at the window. “Do we know who’s making the threat?” asked Napoleon.

“General Castro’s right-hand man is due to speak to the General Assembly later and there is a lot of anti-communist opposition here in New York, not least from Cuban exiles. But there are other anti-communists as we know.”

Napoleon glanced at his partner but Illya’s face gave nothing away. He was turned away, gazing at the river, gleaming silver in a brief ray of winter sunshine.

Waverly hadn’t finished. “We also know who likes to take advantage of any situation where there is discontent and division, but we have no clue about where an attack might come from.”

“Won’t it be in the building?” suggested Napoleon.

“Very likely, but there are other possibilities, such as some kind of missile. Mr Kuryakin, I’d like you to explore likely locations for such an attack. Mr Solo, you have contacts in some of our sister organisations – perhaps you could start there.”

“You think it might be a home-grown attack?”

Waverly glared at him. “I don’t know, Mr Solo. It’s for you to find out.”

<><>

A large-scale map showed several piers on the river bank in Queens, opposite the UN building. Their dereliction suggested they would be a good place to start. Illya parked up and looked around. There was no-one about to watch his exploration of the area.

The weeds that covered one pier showed signs that someone had walked along it recently, leaving a trail of crushed plants. Illya followed the track but was looking the wrong way when that someone, silently jumping up behind him, brought him down. He crashed down among the tall flower spikes and grasses, hitting his head on the scattered bricks, and thereafter lay oblivious to the frantic activities that followed.

<><>

Realising the significance of the explosion, Waverly had sent Napoleon to the UN to get information. In the delegates lounge, he found Mr Guevara, who had finished his inflammatory speech, puffing a cigar. Napoleon introduced himself, saying, “That noise you heard was an explosion – did you realise?”

Guevara seemed to think it had added spice to the occasion.

“Any idea who was behind it, señor?”

“I don’t care,” said Guevara and moved away. Napoleon shrugged and went to talk to alarmed UN officials.

<><>

A railroad employee, listening to the lunchtime news, sat up, startled to hear that there’d been an explosion in the river. _He’d_ been sitting outside eating his lunch and had seen a puff of smoke coming from an adjoining pier. Leaping up, he ran to the offices of the metal supply company at the head of that pier to see if anyone in there knew about it.

They all ran the four-hundred feet to the end of the weed-grown pier finding nothing, but when they turned back they saw it – a four-foot bazooka tied somewhat amateurishly to one of the many milk crates lying around. It was canted at an angle that may have accounted for the shell’s falling short.

As they stood looking at it, they heard a groan and turning towards the sound saw a man’s legs and feet sticking out of the weeds behind an old brick wall.

They helped him sit up. The wound behind Illya’s ear was still bleeding and, resting his elbows on his knees, he held his head in his hands. “What hit me?”

“Couldn’t say, fella. Did you fire the bazooka?”

“Someone fired a _bazooka_?”

They pointed to it. “Yup.”

Illya stared, horrified. “I must have disturbed them… Did it hit anything – is anyone hurt?”

“Apart from you, no, fella. It exploded in the water.”

“How long ago?”

“An hour or more.”

“I must get back to my car – please, help me up.”

“We’ll patch you up first, fella. You can’t drive in that condition.”

<><>

In the end, they insisted that with mild concussion he shouldn’t drive. A relieved Napoleon came to fetch him, bringing a fellow agent who drove the other car back.

“So you missed all the fun?” he remarked. Illya grunted sourly. The tugging on his hair, caught in the rough-and-ready dressing, was adding to his discomfort.

“But a bazooka? They’re easy to get hold of, but the ammo isn’t.”

“You’d have to know someone in the army…”

“Or the CIA, Illya… We know how they feel about communists, don’t we? And none of them would talk to me this morning.”

“If it had been them, they would have tried to put me in the frame,” said Illya. “It could have been Thrush. They’ll have access to ammunition.”

“I guess so,” said Napoleon turning into UNCLE headquarters.

“I thought you were taking me home – why are we here?”

“I’m taking you to the infirmary.”

“Oh, Napoleon!”

<><><><>

**Author's Note:**

> There is a detailed account of this event in the New York Herald Tribune for Saturday 12 December 1964. Had the shell hit the UN, it might have killed, not Che Guevara, who was speaking to the General Assembly, but the Belgian, Paul-Henri Spaak giving a speech to the Security Council, whose windows were in direct line of fire.
> 
> No-one seems to have been found or held responsible for the attack.


End file.
